Imprisonment
by dazedkitten
Summary: COMPLETE AU Epilogue. Malfoy is chasing down information when Weasley interferes. The consequences are larger than either realise as she follows him into a trap... Language and dark themes.
1. Chapter 1

_This story is based in the Harry Potter universe, however no infringement upon J.K.Rowling (and the companies that manage her copyrighted material) is intended. No money is being made. _

_Please note that this story covers some dark situations, and Malfoy curses a bit. Please do not read this story if you are unsure about the suitability of this story for you._

**Imprisonment**

Bang! Draco Malfoy thrust the man against the wall, a fist bunched in his collar.

"Hello," he said pleasantly. "We meet at last. No time for chit-chat, I'm afraid. I need to know who you're working for." The man – utterly unremarkable except for a shiftiness around his eyes – clamped his lips shut and gave Malfoy a tiny smirk. Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I suppose we'll do this the… Oof!"

Something hit his back and he stumbled, loosening his grip. The man ripped himself free and shot off down the alley. Malfoy stared after him for a second, then rounded on his attacker.

A flash of orange hair made his stomach drop. Weasley. The girl. She had her wand pointed at him. The foot traffic of Diagon Alley passed behind her, uncaring at the scene. "Gods, Weasley. You let him get away."

"I stopped you terrorising some man, you mean." She threw her hair over her shoulder. Malfoy let out a sigh.

"I know, I know, I'm always the bad guy." He tilted his collar at her, revealing a small badge pinned there. Weasley's eyes widened.

"Oh, Merlin! An Unspeakable?" She lowered her wand. Malfoy grabbed it off her before she could raise her guard again. When she tried to snatch it back, he grabbed her arm in his own, pushed his wand point against her ribs.

"Let's walk this way a little, shall we?" Weasley was glaring at him. He tugged her along down the alleyway. "Yes, yes, an Unspeakable. Father pulled some strings, got me in."

"So why were you attacking that guy?"

Malfoy raised his eyes to the sky, muttered some oath or other. "It's called information gathering, Weasley. It's useful to have before barging into situations."

She had the decency to flush. "Where are you taking me?"

He shrugged and stopped. Diagon Alley could still be seen, but it was now some distance away. "Here will do. Now, tell me, did you notice anything about Bronsow?"

"Bronsow?"

"The guy," he clarified, rolling his eyes again. Merlin, did this girl really graduate?

"Oh." She paused, thinking. "Not really, he was rather plain. Brown hair, white skin. He was wearing leather shoes, but his robes were pretty patched. And he was radiating helplessness."

Malfoy gritted his teeth at his own stupidity. He should have grabbed the man's wand the second he found him. "I suppose I can't blame you too much, then," he muttered at her. When she frowned questioningly, he huffed. "He put a spell on you, Weasley. Now, get lost. I have to find the guy."

But Weasley had that look on her face, the one that said she wasn't about to get lost. "Why? What does he know?"

"Come on, Weasley, I can't tell you that. Bye, now." He turned and began walking down the small cobbled alley.

But, if he expected her to take his not-so-subtle hints, he was disappointed. He heard her footsteps behind him. "How did you get into the Unspeakables? I mean, I know your dad pulled strings, but they don't take anyone with a prior record and… I mean, you were never convicted of being a Death Eater, but…"

He rounded on her. "Shit, girl, I said get lost. I'm trying to work here. And believe me, that guy is anything but _helpless_," he sneered. "You don't want to get caught in the crossfire."

Weasley flushed again. "I just… I haven't seen anyone from school in a while, and I was wondering how you were going. I was curious," she declared defensively, hands finding purchase on her hips. Malfoy counted to five, looking again at the small strip of sky above his head.

"I have work to do, Weasley. Go find someone else to inflict your curiosity on."

And he turned a corner.

Once around the corner, he forgot about the girl. Every nerve in his body twanged. Before him was a shimmer in the air, the reek of brimstone and ozone. Malfoy looked around carefully. Definitely a trap. But, God, he had to get that information. Dropping to his knees, he picked up a pebble. Turning it over in his fingers, he shaped it into a snitch. He opened the snitch, breathed out a small vapour that he guided with his wand into the cup of the golden ball, closed it again. A tap caused it to stretch its wings.

"Off you go, back to base," he said as he let go of it and it darted away. Malfoy flared his nostrils. That shimmer was certainly a tear in the fabric of space, connected to somewhere else. And left open on purpose. Malfoy considered waiting for backup. Decided against it, it might close anytime. Base could track him through his badge, but finding the end-point of the vortex once it closed? Impossible.

Bracing himself for capture, torture and death, Malfoy stepped through the shimmer.

Weasley stepped fully around the corner. She frowned. Should she follow? Malfoy had wanted her to go back, but… he might be in trouble. With not much more thought, Weasley ran through the vortex.

She stumbled – the ground on the other side was a full foot lower. Pain flashed in her ankle, her knees. She looked up. Black hooded robes all around her. A blinding flash from a wand, the blankness of unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

A wand pressed against her temple, hard, breaking her skin. Opening her eyes, a foreign mind leaping into her own, ripping through her thoughts, her memories, leaving nothing sacred. Every emotion, every impulse stripped bare, sneered at. Blinding pain behind her eyes; blissful unconsciousness once again.

Malfoy woke cold, in pain. Slowly, he took stock. The cold against his back – that would be the floor. The pain in his head: legilimency. The pain in his left little toe: that one he couldn't place. He couldn't remember that happening at all. He opened his eyes a tiny amount gauging if he was alone, the room dark or light.

A tiny amount of light filtered down from the walls: glowing fungus on the walls. But bright enough to see the room. And bright enough to see that, on the other side of the room, Weasley was slumped on the floor as well.

_Shit_, he thought vehemently. He should have got her back to the street properly; she had obviously followed him. On the floor between them: a few pieces of debris… No, he saw with a lurch. Two broken wands. _Fuck_.

Malfoy slowly propped himself to a sitting position. His head pounded fiercely, but he managed it. The sound brought the girl round, she moaned in pain. Malfoy leaned over to see what had happened to his foot.

"Where are we?" Weasley croaked.

Malfoy ignored her, frustrated with her stupidity in following him. Ah, he thought. That's what they've done. Removed the little toenail. No wonder it aches like all buggery. He looked around the room. Ah, yes: a bucket.

"Weasley, how are your feet looking?"

"What?"

Malfoy looked over at her feet, tried to answer his own question, but the light wasn't good enough to discern the state of her feet over the distance between her. "Have they pulled out your toenails?"

"N… No, I don't think so. My head hurts, but my feet are fine."

"Good. Go and see if that bucket over there's got water in it."

"Why do I have to do it?"

"Because if I move this foot, I'll pass out. Just do it."

Weasley looked at him, shocked. But she moved to check the bucket without asking any more questions, for which Malfoy thanked whichever deities were listening for small mercies. "Yes, it looks like water."

"Smell it, then taste it."

She lugged the bucket over next to him. Dipped a finger, sniffed it, licked it. "Yep, water."

"Right. Rip a strip off my robes and clean my toe."

"What am I, your nurse?"

"Shit, Weasley, you follow me into a trap after I've begged you to leave and now you're pissy about me asking you to do something I can't do? If I try, I'll pass out and you'll have to do it anyway."

"Why do you have to clean it at all?"

He stared at her. "Are you really that stupid? It'll get infected. Then I'll die."

"Aren't we going to die anyway?"

Malfoy shivered, and he wasn't sure it had much to do with the chill of the floor. "I hope not."

"Me, too," Weasley whispered. A moment of silence. "Alright." She tore a piece of fabric off the bottom of his robe. Then she frowned, turned and fumbled with her shoe. Somehow she managed to rip a leather strap off her sandals. "Bite on this."

"Keep going when I pass out," he instructed. She nodded. Dipped the fabric, touched his toe. Pain exploded and he fell away from consciousness.

Malfoy woke, later, to a loud clang of metal. "Food," Weasley said, noticing him stirring.

"Fantastic," he said. "What have we got? Sirloin steak? Roast pheasant?"

"Bread and water," she said. "Here." She handed over his half.

Malfoy turned it over in his fingers for a moment. Half stale. But edible, he supposed. He took a bite and chewed, trying hard not to think about the taste. "How did you go with the toe?"

"It's clean. I wrapped it, as well."

"Good. Hand over the water, I need something to wash down this horrid stuff."

"What, not your usual fare?" She handed over the bucket.

"No. Yours?"

She snorted. "Hardly. My mother's got an oven. Stale bread's for chickens."

"Guess that's us, then."

Silence fell. A long time passed.


	3. Chapter 3

Footsteps outside the door. Weasley and Malfoy watched the door. It opened, black hooded robes – two of them – grabbed Malfoy. Weasley jumped to grab him; they pushed her to the ground roughly.

Weasley decided that silence was torture in and of itself.

The door opened again, Malfoy dragged in. The door closed. Weasley crawled over to sit next to him.

"The perpetual darkness really does hamper timekeeping," Weasley said when Malfoy woke.

"Fuck, my head hurts. Water," he demanded.

"Please," she said, reaching for the bucket. "I'm sure you've got manners somewhere."

Malfoy drank from his hand. It shook badly.

"Do I even want to know?"

"No," he replied. "Just pray that they don't do it to you. Even the mind-raping is better than…" All of him shook.

Weasley drank, pushed the bucket away. "What did they want to know?"

Malfoy recovered a little. "I don't know," he admitted after a minute. "They… didn't ask any questions. And I couldn't tell from the legilimency. They didn't focus on anything."

"Is that what this headache's from?" she asked, rubbing her temple.

"The mind-raping? Yeah. Hurts like buggery, doesn't it." He shook again, lowered himself to the floor. "Why the fuck did you follow me?" He whispered.

Weasley bit her lip. To save him? That sounded stupid, now. "I don't know," she whispered back, ashamed.

A long silence.


	4. Chapter 4

"Well, I suppose we can look forward to Potter rescuing us?"

Weasley lowered her head. "I doubt it. I haven't seen Harry for years now."

"What? Did his fan-club close down?"

"God, shut up! There was never any… But, Merlin, I was a stupid little girl." She laughed – once. A hard, bitter sound. "Looks like I haven't changed much. I worshipped the ground he walked on. He found me after the final battle, did you know? Told me he loved me, wanted to be with me forever. I… My brother had just died. I told him to go away, come back later. He never came back."

"So, no great Potter to rescue us. I suppose we'll have to wait for my department to get their arses in gear. Though, thanks for keeping me from accumulating another life-debt to Potter."

A long silence.

"Why did you hate Harry so much? I never understood that."

Malfoy pondered. "Jealousy, mostly. Childish jealousy. I wanted everything he had. Fame, glory, friends, an uncanny ability to have things just work out for him."

Weasley mused. "He didn't ask for those things. Fame, glory – for something he didn't even remember. Friends – well, he needed them. And they spent as much time fighting as they did agreeing. And things worked out for him, mostly, because other people were already doing them for him."

"You sure you're not still in his fan club? No, no, sorry, cheap shot. I know all those things, now. But I still think he's an arrogant prick who's had it easy."

Weasley snorted. "He's had it easy? This, coming from one of the richest wizards in Britain?"

"Richest, in Galleons. Rather lacking in most other aspects."

"Can we talk about something other than Harry, now?"

Malfoy waved a hand at her. "Talk away."

"That is so unhelpful."

"I know."

There was a small silence. "What will you miss most? When we die, I mean."

Malfoy grimaced. His head throbbed. "God, Weasley, I don't know. Life. Being healthy. The sunrise."

"Hot buttered scones," Weasley said. "Daisies. Fairies dancing in the moonlight. Never having kids."

"Kids? You think about that shit already?"

"Yes, well, it's kind of expected in my family. Bill and Fleur have just had their first… I wish I could have had kids as beautiful as theirs are going to be. You never think about that sort of thing?"

"Never. But God forbid I have ugly kids."

Weasley snorted. "You get what you get, unfortunately."

"Suppose I'll just have to find someone gorgeous to share genetics with."

"And you'll just pick her off the street, I suppose?"

Malfoy glared at her. "Fuck, Weasley, I haven't even thought about procreating yet. When I do, I'll get back to you on what I actually think, ok?"

A long silence. Weasley couldn't tell when she was awake and when she was asleep. Time was meaningless.

The door clanged open, Malfoy and Weasley both jumping awake. Food, this time. The door clanged closed. They ate.

"How is your department supposed to find us?"

"Tracking spell on the badge," he replied, fingering the golden question mark still on the inside of his collar. He raised it to sniff it. "Stinks like lilacs."

"What?"

"I detect magic by smell," he said. "Other people can detect by touch, by taste… Uncle Severus could hear spells humming. It's not really smell, of course. It's some sixth sense, and the body has to try to interpret the information in terms it understands."

"Ok," Weasley said, frowning. "But, why lilacs?"

"Shit, I don't know. Because my mother loves them and in spring the house stinks of them? Every vase in every room, lilacs. And I know when she's upset, because she'll wear the lilac perfume to try and make herself happier."

"Do you live with them?"

"They live in France. So, no."

"France?"

Malfoy gave her the look that said she was asking a stupid question. "Nobody wants to be associated with the Malfoys – despite being acquitted. And father was… exiled, sort of. When they chose to leave a Ministerial letter arrived asking them to please not come back. I assume you live with your parents."

Weasley shrugged. "Cheaper than living on my own. And mum cooks, cleans, does my washing… Coming home after training to a hot meal is definitely the way to go."

"Training?"

"I was recruited to the Holyhead Harpies last year. I'm still a bencher, but we all train together."

"They'll miss you?"

"No, probably not – we've got a two week break, end of the season. That's why I was wandering Diagon Alley. Nothing better to do. Who'll miss you? Just the department?"

"I suppose so. They might think I've dropped out. I'm a third year recruit. Another two years before I'm fully qualified. That's why I've got the shit-kicker job of running up informants."

"What on earth do they teach you?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Defensive magic, offensive magic, detection, deception. Then electives. I'm in the enforcer stream, now."

"Wow, an enforcer… I thought they were a myth."

"No, just supposed to be untraceable. Your parents will miss you, won't they."

"Yes. They must be so worried…"

A long silence.


	5. Chapter 5

Footsteps. The door opened. This time, the black hooded robes took Weasley. She slumped, boneless, in their grasp and they huffed and groaned, dragging her out. Malfoy curled in on himself, shocked by the feeling of failure and shame in his gut. Or it might have just been hunger.

They brought her back, dragged her in, closed the door. Malfoy crept to her side, looked her over to see if they'd resorted to knives and hot wire. He couldn't see any blood, but she flinched when he touched her. Slowly, she came round.

"You don't want to know," she said, her arms grabbing around his torso and holding on to him like a terrified child. He put his arms around her. He could feel her shaking.

It was warmer, closer together. Somehow, that made the floor more bearable. Bread and water came again.

"Have you ever had sex, Weasley?"

"No. Can't say I'm interested right now, either."

"That's not what I meant. I was just wondering if I'll die without having sex. I suppose it must be good; but then, I'd be in heaven if I got to eat steak today."

"You've never either? I always assumed…"

"What?"

"Well, Parkinson was always all over you…"

"Yeah, well. Take what you can get. But Pansy was an accessory, not a bedmate."

"I remember that I was always revolted at how she simpered at you all the time."

"I remember that I was always revolted at how you simpered at Potter all the time."

"I suppose that's true. Probably why it bothered me so much."

A long silence.

Malfoy woke to Weasley whimpering in her sleep, shaking. He nudged her, woke her up. She woke, spent a few minutes getting her breath back.

"Bad dream?" He asked unnecessarily.

"Tom."

"What?"

Weasley turned over. "Tom Riddle. Oh, that's right, they covered all that up, didn't they?" She paused for a while. "My first year. Your father put a diary in my books… Tom Riddle's old diary. It was a horcrux, though no one knew about them then."

"Tom Riddle, as in, Voldemort? The Chamber of Secrets? That was you?"

"Mmhmm. I remember waking up with blood on my robes, feathers stuck to my hands, in my hair. Merlin, I was so terrified. He worked his way into my head…" She shivered. Malfoy held her.

"Father didn't know what it was," he said.

"I know," she said. "I can't imagine anyone – even your father – doing that to a kid on purpose."

"Except maybe Voldemort."

"Yes, well. Tom never had a conscience. How did your family come to be aligned with him, anyway?"

"Apparently, he was very persuasive in his first rising."

"Yes, he could be very charming when he wanted something. I got the impression that the second time round, he was impatient and just bullied people through. The first time he was less certain of himself, more… devious."

"Oh, he never lost his ability to manipulate people. When father was in Azkaban… I don't know how he did it, but when he'd finished talking to me, there was nothing I wanted to do more than serve him by killing Dumbledore. I completely believed I could do it, as well."

"Well, you did… indirectly."

"I know. Uncle Severus saved me – and mother – from certain death by reiterating that at fairly frequent intervals."

"Are you close to your parents?"

Malfoy was quiet for a moment. "I don't know. I mean, I hardly speak with them now. But even when I did… They are my parents. I would do just about anything for them. I _have_ done just about everything for them. But…" Weasley felt him shrug.

Footsteps in the corridor. The door opened. They took Malfoy.

A long time later, they dragged him back in. Weasley crawled over to him, saw the blood on his hands. She was glad he was unconscious.


	6. Chapter 6

Food came. Malfoy eventually woke. Weasley wished he hadn't. She broke the bread into small pieces for him and put them in his mouth.

"God," he croaked. "Nursed by a Weasley."

"I thought you said your department would come after you," she accused.

"I thought they would."

"Well, better nursed by a Weasley than nursed by nobody. It's a good thing we're in here together, or you'd be eating off the floor, face first."

Malfoy blinked. He tried to sit up, slumped back to the ground in pain, but wouldn't be quieted. "Weasley. Weasley," he said. "Why are we in a cell together? Why? It's so… stupid! Shit. Shit. Fuck, that hurts. Weasley, why are we in a cell together?" Weasley shook her head, confused. Malfoy shook his head at her confusion, frustrated. "It's a completely stupid technique. They must have nowhere else to put prisoners. God, I can't think straight and you can't think. Fuck."

Weasley frowned at his insult, but was more worried about his now-bleeding fingers. "You're bleeding again. Just lay down, stop getting so excited. Thinking uses your brain, not your bloody body."

Malfoy flopped; still; quiet. Weasley fussed over his hands, but couldn't do anything without hurting him more. Finally, she lay next to him, just keeping him warm.

A long silence.

"They don't want anything," Malfoy said. "I've not been asked for any information. The mind-raping was thorough but random. I've been tested to my limits, but not pushed far beyond… Only one cell. An unexpected guest. Treated the same to quiet suspicion." Malfoy turned his head, turned from ruminating. "Weasley, what did they do to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"In the torture. What did they do?"

Weasley shuddered once, then frowned. "I… I can't quite remember. I remember the legilimency. I remember the bright light in my face, and pain… but nothing specific. That's so strange," she whispered. "It was so real… but I can't remember it."

Malfoy frowned, looked toward the roof again. "It could be shock, your brain refusing to remember something that would damage it, cause you severe psychological trauma. Or… it could just be a suggestion, implanted. You weren't harmed physically – your knees are grazed, and your ankle swelled up a while back, but that was from the capture, not the torture. Nothing physical." Malfoy trailed off.

A long silence.

Food came. Malfoy stared at the black robe as it dropped the food and water bucket on the ground. The door clanged shut.

"Mildew," he said after a while. "Weasley, help me to the back wall." Weasley gave a heaving sigh but didn't argue. She was hungry and she didn't understand. She half-dragged Malfoy to the back wall. He ran his fingers over the stones, sniffed them. He frowned, shook his head. "No. Ok, that wall over there," he indicated. Weasley helped again. Both were puffing from exertion as Malfoy again ran fingers over the wall, sniffing. "No. That wall, Weasley," he directed.

"No, Malfoy," she said.

"Bloody yes, Weasley."

"I'm exhausted."

"I don't care."

"Well, do it yourself, then." Weasley sat in the middle of the room.

Malfoy managed to drag himself half a metre before the pain in his hands exploded, nausea swept through him. "Fuck. Ok, Weasley, you win, I'll look later. Just, God, help…"

Weasley shuffled over to him, straightened him out, lay next to him. "I know you think I'm stupid, but I'd probably understand if you told me what you're thinking."

"Maybe," he said. "But I don't want to say anything before I'm sure."

Weasley sniffed. "Fine."

Malfoy noticed something was wrong when she started to shake. "What's wrong, Weasley?"

"Nothing," she mumbled.

"You're shaking. What's wrong."

"I… I miss my mum. And my dad. And my brothers. You probably think that's stupid, but… I want to tell them how much I love them. Before I die."

"I…" Malfoy stopped, started again. "That's not so stupid," he admitted. "What sort of pessimistic shit are you spouting, though?"

Her shaking grew worse.

"Fuck. Shit. Sorry, Weasley. You're not trained for this. I'm not good at talking to people at the best of times. And this certainly isn't the best of times."

"Just shut up, Malfoy."

A long silence.


	7. Chapter 7

More food, which Weasley dipped in the water before she ate. Malfoy noticed and did the same.

"Your hands getting better?" She asked.

"A little," he replied.

"This makes it so much easier to swallow."

"Dehydration, starvation; our throats are drying out. Soon we won't be able to get out of here even if they open all the doors."

"Now who's being pessimistic?" Malfoy shrugged. Weasley noticed the glint of gold on his collar. "Does it still smell of lilacs?" she asked.

"What?"

"The badge."

Malfoy looked down at his collar. "Lilacs. Yes, it does. Weasley," he said, urgent, "why would they leave the badge on?"

"I don't know; they don't know what it does?"

"The enchantment on this thing is so noisy… I can smell it clear across the room when I get up in the morning. My uniform still stinks of it when I have it cleaned. They're pretty useless if they don't notice."

Weasley frowned. "And it's a weapon. You could probably stab someone with the pin of it."

"So, who would forget – or ignore – an Unspeakable badge?" Malfoy mused.

"Why didn't you use it on the guard?" She asked.

Malfoy blinked. "Well, I… I didn't think of it," he admitted. "It stinks, but I tune it out… Gods, Weasley, you are brilliant, you know that?"

"I might… If you'd tell me what I so brilliantly uncovered."

"The glowing wall, Weasley; help me to the glowing wall."

She did.

Malfoy ran his fingers over the stones, sniffed his fingers. "Mildew," he said. "Weasley, we're not going to die."

"We're not?"

"God, no. Put your hands on the wall, tell me what you feel."

She did. "Hey," she said, snatching her hand back. "It… Feels odd. Tingles."

Malfoy gave her a satisfied smile.

"Merlin, Malfoy, just tell me."

"My department did find me," he said, but before he could continue, he was interrupted by footsteps in the corridor. They both turned to stare at the door.

It opened, but there was no black robe behind it.

Instead, in full uniform, the head of the Enforcers strode in.

Weasley looked in confusion between the tall, black-haired man and the sickly-looking blond beside her. The Enforcer waved Malfoy to speak.

"Sir," he said, then turned back to Weasley. "A test," he said. "This was a test. We're probably in the Department right now. The wall," he indicated, "has a concealment enchantment on it. I should have checked it all when I woke up here…"

"You will be able to debrief fully after you've recovered," the Enforcer said.

"After he's recovered?" Weasley bit. "What sort of department is this? Do you teach torture techniques too? Practice Unforgivables on weekends? Is sadism a personality requirement?"

"Miss Weasley," the Enforcer said, repeating himself until she listened. "I apologise for your unfortunate involvement in this exercise. There were strong requests that you simply be turned back, and Malfoy tested alone. However, the overruling opinion was that Malfoy needed to learn to take responsibility for his actions – or, rather, inactions. So, it was necessary to include you.

"There will be complete disclosure in the recovery sessions. You will be cared for here in the Department, and any questions that you have you may ask and receive complete answers to. But, now, let us allow the medics to do their jobs."

And, coming through the door were people dressed in white robes with stretchers. Weasley sent a disgusted look at Malfoy, who seemed to be just accepting this 'test'. She closed her eyes and fainted.


	8. Chapter 8

Recovery – even from suggested torture – was long. Trained psych-medics guided Weasley's healing, held her when she cried, listened to her ranting. She worked her way from weak soup to solid food. And she didn't see Malfoy.

"What is this Enforcer stuff, anyway?" She asked the psych-medic. "Trained assassins? The 'dark side' of the law?"

The medic tilted her head, thinking. "No. Perhaps, more like spies. Ordinary aurors go through rigorous training – law, combat, negotiation and the like. Enforcers – while also working for the Unspeakables, who get them to retrieve all sorts of information – also seek out… shall we say, unsavoury goings-on. If Enforcers had been around when Voldemort was rising the first time, he probably wouldn't have got anywhere. Enforcers would have infiltrated his network and provided the information to capture him – or, at least, killed him before anything got out of hand.

"No, I can see that question in your mouth before you ask it. Their job isn't to deny freedom of speech or any such. Rather, their goal is to help the Ministry protect Wizarding life. And, often, Muggle lives as well."

Weasley sat on that information for a while, digesting it. Her recovery proceeded. It seemed a long time, but when she asked for the date, she was startled to realise that she'd only missed four weeks of training.

"Six weeks? That was six weeks? And my parents?"

"Were informed that you were involved in a secret Unspeakable project, and would be returned to them soon."

Weasley nodded. "I think I'm ready to go home."

The psych-medic nodded. "You are. I've been waiting for you to realise."

Weasley gave the woman a wan smile. "Just one thing… May I see Malfoy before I leave?"

The medic looked troubled. "I… I don't know. I'll have to ask."

"Please," she indicated that the medic should do so now. The woman left the room.

A long time passed. Weasley wondered if they would leave her there until she decided to leave on her own. She set her jaw and decided to wait them out.

Perhaps an hour later, Malfoy entered the room.

"Weasley?" He greeted her.

"Malfoy," she replied. "How is your recovery going?"

"Slowly," he said. "I lost a lot of muscle tone – not to mention some fingernails and a toenail – that has to be recovered. You seem better."

"I am. I'm going home."

"Now?"

She nodded. "I was wondering…" she trailed off.

Malfoy made an impatient noise. She rolled her eyes.

"I was wondering if you'd be willing to find the time to have my curiosity inflicted upon you over coffee?"

"What, now?"

"No, not now. I'm going home now. Later."

"Oh." Malfoy seemed at a loss. "It's actually not a good idea, you know. Enforcing is work that demands a certain… vagrancy."

"I didn't ask if it was a good idea," she replied. "I asked if you were willing."

"I… I'll let you know," he said. He snorted. "Shit, we were tortured together, and I still can't… talk to you. I'll get back to you, Weasley. Can't promise much, what with all the top secret baddies I'm following and all, but I will get back to you."

Weasley shrugged. "All I can ask for."

Malfoy gave her a strange look. "You going to go hounding back after Potter?"

Weasley raised an eyebrow. "Why do you want to know?" Malfoy looked like he had indigestion. "No, no, don't worry. No, Harry's gone from my life."

"Ok," Malfoy said, curious at the strange tightness that had eased at the girl's words.

"Right. Well," she said, standing up from the bed she'd been sitting on. "I'm off home. I'll hear from you, Malfoy."

"Why does that sound like a threat, all of a sudden?" He muttered as she walked past him, down the corridor.

"Because it is," she replied over her shoulder. She waved without looking back.

Malfoy rolled his eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

Malfoy's recovery had been rough, despite how he'd brushed it off to Weasley. Working his way back to work-standard fitness would take months. His psyche had taken a battering as well. As he sat in the gym and worked his legs, he went over his penultimate meeting with the First Enforcer.

"You tortured me."

"Yes. There is no way to test your ability to withstand questioning without you firmly believing that you are actually in enemy hands."

He had looked out the window, trying to find a way to give vent to the betrayal he felt.

The First Enforcer must have understood what he wanted to say. "No, not all recruits go through this section of training. Only those who we believe are able to come through it stronger. And, even among those, we only choose those who we believe have the talent to engage in such dangerous missions that to be captured by the enemy would mean disaster if the information you have was leaked."

"So, you're saying that torturing me is a twisted way of complimenting me?"

The Enforcer inclined his head slightly, a wry smile on his face. "I was put through the same scheme, in my day. I do not know if there is another, better way of gaining the skills, experience and toughness that you will find you have now. It is not a… nice procedure, nor perhaps an ethical one." He shrugged uncomfortably.

Malfoy glared. What the man said made sense, but his hands ached and his legs barely supported him still. He was dying to eat steak, but knew that his weak stomach couldn't handle it yet. He would have nightmares for months, yet; and he knew that they would recur in the future. And, to top it all off, they had involved a civilian.

"Weasley was an unnecessary addition."

The Enforcer frowned. "That is true. What I told her was true enough, as far as it went. However, the actuality of the situation was that the enchantments used would not let her go. She stepped through the rift and we could do nothing to return her. Her involvement has taught you several useful lessons, but, as you say, it was not necessary for you to learn those during this test." The man looked out the window. "Her father was suspicious, of course. He has heard some rumour of the harsh way we train our inductees. Luckily, before he could uncover very much, you figured out the puzzle."

"I wish I could have convinced her to go back," Malfoy murmured. "I assume you understand the guilt I am feeling."

"And the shame and helplessness, also," the man agreed. "What have you learned… No, no, I will wait a while longer, I believe, before we get into what you have learned from the test. Take your time, Malfoy. Ask for me when you are ready to discuss what you have learned."

And the man had left. Malfoy pushed his leg weights three more times, pushing through the aching of his muscles. He was sweating, and the tiredness he could feel was the clean weariness of physical exertion rather than the clinging dirtiness of sleeplessness.

Time went on. Malfoy worked his muscles up to peak fitness again. His fingernails – and toenail – grew back, untroubled. His mind was definitely troubled, but the psych-medics worked him through most things.

Mostly, he was dreading his continued training. The thought of viewing his mistreatment as a _lesson_ rankled him – not even his father had done so to this extent. And he particularly didn't want to associate this so-called 'good' arm of law enforcement with anything regarding Voldemort. And that was what his mind was threatening to do.

Several months passed.


	10. Chapter 10

Weasley was surprised when she received an owl at breakfast one morning.

"You expecting mail, dear?" her mum asked her, eyeing the owl apprehensively.

She shrugged. "Maybe it's a counter offer from another team. Merlin knows I'm sick of sitting on the bench."

"It's only your second year with them," Ron said across the table as Weasley took the envelope from her mother. "Don't get too greedy."

She rolled her eyes, but refrained from commenting. None of them had asked what had happened. They'd all asked if she was ok, but – as if by some unspoken ruling – none of them asked about the events of the six weeks she'd been gone. And, as she turned over the sparsely addressed envelope, she realised that she felt slightly betrayed by that. She wanted to share her outrage, her indignation. But she couldn't speak of it. Not first. It was locked up tight in her – not causing her any harm, the medics had seen to that – but not entirely resolved either.

The parchment inside was as sparse as the outside. _Weasley,_ it said, and she felt a lurch of recognition at the tone – even if it was in print. _Suppose I should take you up on that coffee. But if I have to suffer your curiosity, you'd better be paying. Meet you at Gringott's on Sunday at two._

Weasley grinned a little, despite her exasperation at the unsigned note.

"Who's it from, dear?" her mother asked.

"Oh, just a friend from Hogwarts wondering if I'd like to catch up for coffee."

"Oh, that's nice," her mother said vaguely, beginning to clear the breakfast dishes.

"Who?" Ron asked.

"Oh, nobody you'd know," she replied.

"I know plenty of people from Hogwarts," he protested.

"Oh, really? Name the other Gryffindor girls from my year." Weasley gave Ron a satisfied smirk as he floundered. "Exactly," she said. "It's my business, so keep out."

Ron scowled, but admitted defeat. "Come on, then. We've got ten minutes to get to the ground."

Sunday at two arrived sooner than Weasley had been prepared for. She wandered in, collected a few Galleons, and was waiting on the steps outside in the sunshine for what seemed ages. She was close to giving up and going home; it was sheer stubbornness that kept her there.

Finally, three quarters of an hour late, Malfoy wandered up.

"Hey," Weasley grumbled. "You're late."

Malfoy looked at his pocket watch, looked up at her in mock astonishment. "Why, I believe you're correct!"

Getting up and joining him, Weasley glared. "If you didn't want to come, then don't feel pressured. Get lost."

"Seriously, Weasley, if I didn't choose to be here, I wouldn't be. I was kept late at work."

"More information gaining?"

"No, actually," he said with a small grin and a sly look. "I quit."

"You _what?_"

"You heard me," he said, enjoying her reaction.

"But… But… Didn't your Dad pull strings?"

"Yes. But even he agreed that they'd taken the training too far. So, I quit."

"So… What are you doing now?"

Malfoy led them into a small coffee shop down a backstreet. He waved at the man behind the counter, who seemed to recognise him. "I make coffee, actually," he laughed.

"Here?" Weasley asked, looking around with wide eyes.

"Well, I'd hardly take you to the competition, would I?"

"I suppose not…"

"I told my father that I'm contemplating my career options. In fact, I'm thinking about buying the shop." He raised an eyebrow at her.

"To… To do what with it?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Not much. Gain the profits for the minimum work," he laughed self-depreciatingly.

Weasley gave him a shrewd look. "You're much happier now," she told him.

"Oh, really, Weasley? You reckon?" Somehow, Weasley smiled at his sarcasm. "And you?"

She looked away. Their coffees arrived. "Oh, you know, training as always. Bored brainless, most of the time."

"That must be an achievement," Malfoy mused in a light tone. He frowned when Weasley didn't smile. "Really, Weasley, what's going on?"

"Your family… when they found out about your extended absence… what did they do?" Seeing his expression turning to another question, Weasley said, "Just answer the question."

He shrugged. "They asked me what the hell my department had been doing to me. And were utterly infuriated. Offered to go back, to kick up a fuss. Of course, I'd only gone to them after I'd decided to quit." He saw her expression. "Why, Weasley, what did your family say?"

"They all said, 'are you ok?'"

Malfoy's frown turned dark. "Not a word of, 'what the hell did they do to you?'"

"Not as single word."

"And you call them family?"

"Loving, law abiding family who'd never – in their darkest nightmares – expect a government department to do that to a member of wizarding society."

"But they didn't ask."

"No."

Malfoy seemed to be contemplating something. "My boss told me that your father was worried… he'd been digging around, trying to figure out what was happening to you."

Weasley turned pale. "And he still didn't want me to tell him… Wanted to keep believing in the institution… Merlin, I love my family; but right now, I'd rather have yours."

Malfoy grimaced. "Well, at this moment, perhaps. But I'd bet, hands down, that yours is more supportive long-term. I think I can wait a long time before I tell father of my 'career choice'…"

Weasley shrugged. "I suppose that's true. But then, the accumulation of assets isn't really such a silly idea."

Malfoy blinked. "You're right. A portfolio of businesses…"

Weasley shrugged. "You could buy out struggling businesses – like that robe shop, just down the street? – and transform them into profitable ventures. Then either sell them on, or just take your share of the profits."

A long pause.

"Why aren't you in business, Weasley?"

She laughed. "Don't have the money for it," she said, waving a hand at her robes.

Malfoy gave her a considering look that went on for far longer than she was comfortable with, causing her to blush furiously. "How about we set up a business together?" He said at long last.

"What? You and me?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "No, me and that other hidden person who's business brain just leapt out at me."

"You know, that's a really annoying habit."

"And so is your stating the obvious. Just give me an answer."

"Well… Sorry, your suggestion shocked me. I… I have a contract with the Harpies…"

Malfoy snorted. "I'll buy it out. They'll use it to try and lure Potter back into Quidditch." His face softened a little as he said, "do you want to do it?" quietly.

Weasley held her breath for ten seconds, pinched herself, then looked back up into Malfoy's gaze.

"I'd love to," she said, holding out her hand to shake. Malfoy shook her hand firmly, a smug smile plastered across his features.


End file.
